All These Things Left Unsaid
by psychoswan
Summary: She had never thought she needed to say it. Surely he knew all along, she loved him. Clearly, she was mistaken.


**A/N: **My favourite types of dramione ficlets. Adore writing these.

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**all these things left unsaid**

There's something about the way her head would pound or the way her heart would ache. There was something about the coppery warm taste of blood in her mouth she hungered for like a lone wolf on the prowl. She thirsted for the sound of his voice cracking and the invisible sound of her salt tears splashing upon the wooden floor.

Hermione didn't know why that was. She wanted to be happy with him, she wanted to be happy with him, **for** him. When Ginny asks her why or begs her cut the ties she could only respond with, "I love him." She'd never said it to his face, there was never a time for that. She knew it wasn't needed, he knew how she felt and she knew – or at least hoped- he felt the same. The fierce violent love they shared was the love she never wanted but always needed, she supposed.

Then there were the times they'd fight and he'd break down, sobbing about how he needed her, begging her to come back. She'd kiss him tenderly, tears washing her face from anger and she'd say, "I would never leave you. How could I ever leave you?" Then he'd cry some more because that's not what he meant.

"You've broken him," Pansy had said casually over her steaming cup of tea a month or so ago. Hermione had raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a bitter smirk. "But I supposed," she carried on, "He's broken you too."

Broken. Hermione liked that word, she always had. It was a beautifully ugly word which cried a warning you simply wanted to ignore. Just for the pleasure of using that word to describe yourself. She relished the thought people called her 'Broken' but that wasn't a good thing.

Then she'd cry, big, fat, fast tears, that would tumble down her throat as sobs hurricaned in her throat. She was the brightest witch of her age, she had such a bright future so why did she resort to this? Then he'd find her, curled up on their sofa, sniffing and shaking. He'd pull her into his arms, kiss her hair, kiss her nose and then her lips. She'd smile and he'd whisper, "How about I cook you your favourite, tonight?" She'd nod gently but in an hour or so they'd be screaming again.

"Why do we fight so much, Hermione?" he'd whisper across the pillows in the dead of night.

She'd stare at him through the murky darkness, "I don't know. I would be better if we didn't."

"I wish we didn't. I can't stand hating you." His words would bite her, he couldn't hate her, could he? Was what she felt during a fight hate or love? Love for sure. Yet his words confused her. So she'd turn the other way and pretend he wasn't there but it was hard to ignore his breathing. She knew he was awake, staring at her and he knew she was awake, ignoring him. Then she'd cry herself to sleep and he'd do nothing but stare and hurt.

"Do you plan on marrying him, Hermione?" Harry had asked the previous week.

She had placed her book down, "We never could."

"But you plan on staying with him forever?" She had stared at him for a while, his emerald eyes staring imploringly into hers. Then she had nodded. He had sighed, but he wasn't surprised.

I love you. Those three words echo through every fight. They stain her flushed cheeks, rip across the air, creak with the bed and hums with every breath he takes. Sometimes she just wanted to yell it. It will be perfectly silent, he would be lying on the bed reading a book and she'd be sitting on the floor with Crookshanks and the silence would overcome her. She'd feel the words choking her, forcing their way out of her mouth. But she'd resist. There was no need for it. He knew.

How could he not know? He must see it in the way her face lights up when he walks in with a bouquet of flowers. Or in the way she kisses him when she's sleepy and he wraps her up in a blanket and makes her a cup of tea. He must see it in the way she cries when they yell.

But what if he doesn't?

See, she isn't sure if he does.

She even doubts his love towards her, seeing as they've never said it.

She used to think it showed they were better than petty phrases and that it didn't define their relationship but she'd started to think, perhaps, it does. Perhaps, they had gotten to the point where they couldn't go any further without expressing their attachment and their desire to never part. Never had they ever said to each other, "I want to spend the rest of my life with you." They had just took for granted the fact that they would. So perhaps, all this uncertainty, all these things left unsaid had been ruining them. They didn't always used to fight. It was only a little while after she realised she loved him did the fight stir up.

Then it clicked into place.

"Draco?" It was a whisper across the room but he heard her. He turned, the soft, timid tone she took startled him. "I love you."

Her heart pounded heavily in her ears. He froze, he looked at her in utter disbelief. Fear clogged her throat and her breath grew ragged. Then his expression shattered and beneath it was one of radiant ecstasy. "I love you, too." He whispered it back and everything got brighter, her smile came back and so did their fond, sweet, passionate love.

It's funny how words can do that.

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**A/N:** Reviews please, I beg of you x


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